When You Walk With Sherlock Holmes
by xox-hattii-xox
Summary: ...You see the battlefield. John Watson knows this, and he still can't keep away. There's something both men see in the other, that pulls them together.    A series of vignettes of 221b Baker Street. Slash, or Pre-slash - JohnSherlock.
1. Haunt

**Title: **Haunt**  
Word Count:** 165**  
Prompt:** Haunt**  
Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary: **It baffles John, how Sherlock changes so quickly.  
**Author's Note:** This is the first one of my, hopefully many, drabbles...vignettes...oneshots, whichever you wish to call them. Enjoy.

* * *

Haunt.

They've only known each other a few weeks, but the more John gets to know Sherlock, the more the younger, much smarter, man fascinates him. Not just his idiosyncrasies and his razor-sharp intelligence the things that the rest of the world sees, but the peculiar ways he manages to integrate himself so firmly in John's life.

How, quite inexplicably, John has become Sherlock's shadow, second opinion, and stand-in skull. How, also incomprehensibly, Sherlock's managed to become John's cure for a limp, main subject in his blog, and a jolt of adrenaline in his lifestyle.

And, most of all, John is fascinated by the way that Sherlock's ability to float through a room silently and invisibly as if he's a ghost. Because John knows how potent and fiery Sherlock is, how his usual presence and personality is such a...such a force of nature, that he's stunned by the ease with which Sherlock is able to turn it all off and just haunt him.


	2. Stop And Stare

**Title: **Stop And Stare**  
Word Count: **212**  
Prompt: **Stare  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary: **Because, really, what does Sherlock do if not observe?  
**Author's Note:** I thought it an amusing/endearing thing to have Sherlock performing his usual observations...except there's a _little_ bit more when John is involved.

* * *

Stop And Stare.

All his life, Sherlock has stared at things. Staring is essentially seeing, observing, on a much more intense level. And seeing is what Sherlock does best; it gives him the tools to deduce, and that makes him feel alive. Staring is Observing, Observing is Deducing, Deducing is Knowing, and knowing things is what makes him Sherlock. He stares, therefore he knows.

However, ever the exception to the rule, that is not the case with John Watson. He lies on his leather sofa, watching as John stumbles about the kitchen in an early-morning haze searching for tea...and his powers of deduction are stumped.

He _does _spot the bruises under John's eyes, and somewhere in the back of his mind he notes that John must not have slept much last night, but he concentrates on the endearing way John's eyelids are drooping, and stifles a smile.

His brain _does _comment that John's biting his lips and that means he's thinking hard, but Sherlock only knows that because he's watched before rather than his brilliance. And he's wondering more about _what _John's thinking – and, embarrassingly, whether it involves him - than the fact that John is thinking.

And, for once, he just can't work it out. So he'll keep on staring until he does.


	3. Wink

**Title: **Wink**  
Word Count: **149**  
Prompt: **Wink**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Summary: **What does the dictionary know about life, anyway?**  
Author's Note:** It made me smile each time Sherlock winked, so I thought I'd do a vignette on it.

* * *

Wink.

According to the dictionary, a wink is described as a facial expression made by briefly closing one eye, or an informal mode of communication. And, sure, John guesses that that is all it really should be. All it _is _to most people. To him, too, that's all it usually is.

But of course, when Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes winks at him, everything changes.

It's more than a flicker of an eyelid, a signal of Sherlock's amusement or his satisfaction. It's more than communication across a crowded room. Of course it's more, it always is when Sherlock's involved.

It's a small signal of comfort that John isn't being left in the dust of Sherlock's brilliance. It's a tiny gesture from a genius that John is relevant, is needed. It's a reassurance that John _is _being remembered, even in all the chaos of their lives.

It's a sign that Sherlock cares.


	4. A Step Behind

**Title: **A Step Behind**  
Word Count: **149**  
Prompt:** Waiting**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Summary: **Because he'll never be as fast as Sherlock**  
Author's Note:** It amused me whenever Sherlock would insult them about their 'funny little minds'.

* * *

A Step Behind.

Sherlock Holmes is a man who always has to wait. He doesn't want to, he doesn't wish to, and he sure as hell doesn't like to. But, being as fast-paced as he is, it's a fact of life that Sherlock has had to resign himself to.

His brain works at a mile a minute, thought after thought firing at impressive speeds, all comprehensible to no-one but him. He has to wait after each deduction, because only he understand and because the world is so _slow_.

He runs from place to place, scoffing at Lestrade and his goons when they have to take a minute to figure out where he's going and why. And then he has to wait for them to catch up.

Not only is Sherlock a man who has to wait, but he is a man who will constantly gripe about it. Will continually complain, moan and make snarky comments about everyone else's complete lack of brilliance and speediness.

But John Watson is the only man who'll always be a step behind and Sherlock will never complain.


	5. Anger

**Title:** Anger**  
Word Count: **181**  
Prompt:** Anger**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Summary: **Some say the world will end in fire, others say in ice. John's experienced both.**  
Author's Note:** I like the idea of a protective, in his own way, Sherlock.

* * *

Anger.

Something everyone who has ever met Sherlock Holmes knows for certain is that his anger, when it erupts, is a sight to behold; The entire uncontrollable emotion unleashed by the most reserved and unemotional man any of them know. Powerful flames that twist and burn from inside a statue of fire – a feat against nature, much like the man himself.

So, it was natural of John to assume that Sherlock's anger was all fire, sparks and danger.

But now, with a gun cold against his temple, John stares at Sherlock as his captor grins at the detective over John's shoulder. And Sherlock...freezes. Not a bone moves, not a muscle twitches, he's simply inanimate.

John thought he'd seen every shade of anger a man has to offer to the world - especially this man – but Sherlock manages to surpass all of them with ease in one second. The man is ice brought to life, but with a righteous fury that glows in his eyes so bright that John feels like he has to look away so as not to get burnt.


	6. The Fun Of Forbidden

**Title:** The Fun Of Forbidden**  
Word Count: **301**  
Prompt:** Forbidden**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Summary:** One day, maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day, John will stop this madness. But until them...**  
Author's Note:** Oh, longest one yet!

* * *

Forbidden.

The dim light of the television, featuring the face of an actress whose name John forgets, gently brushes across the room and bathes certain objects in it's glow; The cup of half-drank, now-cold tea that sits on the coffee table, that strange skull on the mantle-piece, and, most obviously, the sleeping form of Sherlock Holmes on the other half of the sofa.

Due to the rather limited source of light, John's view is somewhat depleted. But the gentle luminance is enough to cling to the soft curves and slopes of the quietly slumbering detective – The subtle rounding of the tip of his pale nose, the slight flickering of his eyelids which are purple from lack of sleep, and the light rise and fall of his still clothed chest as he breathes with the regularity that suggests that his roommate is in only the deepest of sleeps.

Forcing a breath, more a sigh really, out through his nose, John closes his eyes and silently berates himself as he pulls himself off of the sofa and pads quietly away, leaving Sherlock to make some indiscernible noise and curl up tighter on the sofa.

This isn't right, not something he should be doing. It's something he _does_, but he knows that it has to stop. It's inappropriate, untoward and...and just _not done_ to think about your roommate that way. To watch him like that. He will stop, he has to stop, he is _going. To. Stop._

Sherlock mumbles something quietly into the leather of the sofa and John turns back to watch as the detective twists in his sleep, muttering nonsensical words as he does.

Maybe he'll stop _tomorrow_. After all, the only fun to be found in Forbidden is the temptation to keep returning for more.


	7. Lust

**Title:** Lust**  
Word Count: **184**  
Prompt:** Lust**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Summary:** Sherlock Holmes has always been above such things as Sex.**  
Author's Note:** Kinda pushing that PG-13 rating.

* * *

Lust.

For a good many years of his life, Sherlock has been comfortably asexual. Sure, he was made fun of it during his college years when his dorm-mates had girls traipsing into their bed every night while he just, _oddly_ _enough_, went to sleep. And it had never bothered him before. He'd happily declared himself married to his work and he thought it was a match made in heaven.

But damn John Watson to hell for changing everything.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to figure out the difference between his usual observation, and the fixation he seems to have with watching his roommate. In fact, it's not until he's hanging upside-down off the edge of the sofa and glimpses John padding through to the kitchen in only his pyjama bottoms that he manages to understand the feeling roaring like fire through his veins.

And then Sherlock Holmes, the man who's always been above such indulgences as sex, has to admit to himself that his roommate makes him feel something he hasn't felt for a long time, and never this strongly; Lust.


	8. It'll Never Be Her

**Title:** It'll Never Be Her**  
Word Count: **207**  
Prompt:** Someone Else**  
Rating:** PG-13**  
Summary:** He tried, he did. But...she's not Sherlock.**  
Author's Note: **Sort of inspired by the line from 'The Notebook'. Which I also don't own.

* * *

It'll Never Be Her.

He really, _really_, thought that this would work. Sarah's fun, Sarah's nice, Sarah's pretty. She's...convenient is the word that holds the most truth, if he admits to it. Or maybe 'distraction'. Either way, he did try...maybe. Possibly. Not really.

But, when he's with her, he just can't find the spark. The swooping feeling in his stomach, or the nervous tremor in his voice aren't present. His knees don't knock together like a virginal school-boy. There's nothing. She's cordial, funny, interesting, kind, and a million other traits, but he simply doesn't feel anything for her.

Oh, _God_, he's so ashamed of it. He's guilt-ridden and pathetic. But, still he painfully gets dressed in a nice shirt, books a table at a nice restaurant, and makes nice conversation with the nice girl. All in all, that's all she is; Nice.

"John," She tells him over a candle in the middle of the velvet-covered table. "Look, a girl knows when a man looks into her eyes and sees someone else. Go home," And she walks away, a nice smile on her nice face.

And John does the only thing he can do, the only thing he'll ever be able to do. He returns to Sherlock.


	9. Everyone Does It

**Title:** Everyone Does It  
**Word Count: **242  
**Prompt:** Mistakes  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** When Sherlock makes mistakes, the consequences are far more dire. John comforts  
**Author's Note: **I've had Protective!Sherlock. Now it's time for Comforting!John.

* * *

Everyone Does It.

When a normal man makes a mistake, life tends to go on. They forgot to pick up some stamps, got fired at work, or cheated on their wife. Sure, lives could get messed up, families hurt, messages never sent, but no-one ever _dies_. Not like when Sherlock makes a mistake.

And, in all honesty, it's rare for Sherlock to make a mistake. If he does happen to make one, he manages to fix it pretty quickly. But this time, _this_ time, Sherlock made a mistake. And a child died. A goddamned _child_ died.

Despite what he says to John about hospitals being full of dying people, he cares. Cares so much that he retracts into silence, solitude and cigarettes. He sits on the floor at the foot of his bed, staring at the ceiling of the darkened room, and inhales on battered fags until the room is swirling with the twisting ribbons of smoke.

"It was a mistake, Sherlock, everyone makes mistakes," John tells him from the door, his voice so quiet that it almost blends in with the subtle smoke of the room.

"I don't," His words are riddled with disuse.

"You can't save everyone,"

"I can,"

"It was a mistake"

"I don't. Make. Mistakes,"

Sighing in unsung sorrow, John crosses the room and sits by his side. "Okay." He agrees, placing an arm around the other man's shoulders which are curled in like the tattered pages of a book.


	10. Drunk

**Title:** Drunk  
**Word Count: **133  
**Prompt:** Drunken Kiss**  
Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Neither are thinking straight...but they know what they want.  
**Author's Note: **Because it's time for a JohnSherlock kiss.

* * *

Drunk.

There is slurred laughter, too much alcohol, dizzying movements and too much of Sherlock's twinkling eyes. There is drunken staggering, smashing bottles, jerky movements and too much of John's infectious smile. There is falling on the kitchen floor, muffled chuckles, and suddenly Sherlock's lips on his.

They crash together clumsily, each tasting of laughter, beer and _god _just so good. Hands grasp arms, shoulders, necks. Fingers tangle in hair and pluck fumblingly at clothing. Buttons pop and hands wander. Lips explore and breaths grow ragged.

John moans, Sherlock groans, and their lips collide once more.

But when they wake up the next morning, half-dressed and with sore heads, neither remembers. Sherlock deduces and John guesses, but neither are entirely sure. And neither mention that they can taste the other on their lips.


	11. Bad Habits

**Title:** Bad Habits  
**Word Count: **154  
**Prompt:**A Bad Habit  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Because no-one's perfect.**  
Author's Note:**Sherlock's bad habit with John is open to interpretation. But bear in mind, this vignette is Pre-Slash.

* * *

Bad Habits.

Sherlock has been repressing quite a lot of bad habits all his life.

He likes scotch, but refrains from buying it because it dulls his sense and dims the light in his brain. He likes to bite his nails, but stops because not only is it disgusting, but it's also distracting. He likes to gamble, but he needs the money for the rent more than he needs it for a shot of adrenaline. He likes to smoke, but it's just impossible to sustain a smoking habit in London.

So, he keeps his liver clean, his nails intact, his wallet full, and his arms wallpapered in nicotine patches. Somewhere, he's proud of himself, of his willpower.

Juggling so many bad habits, he thinks it impossible for him to find any more temptation. But, as always, he's proven wrong by the even-tempered, good-natured, smiling man he's proud to call his roommate.


	12. Puzzle

**Title:** Puzzle  
**Word Count: **132  
**Prompt:**Puzzle  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Sherlock was a master at puzzles. So, if he just worked hard enough, he'd work out this one too.  
**Author's Note:**Heh, what can you say? The Sherlock who lives in my brain is a puzzle-freak.

* * *

Puzzle.

They fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. They fall into the same step much like the way two parts of a jigsaw slot into place, fitting together like two hands entwining perfectly. They even speak almost in tandem, Sherlock making some convoluted point and John rounding it off with a blunt ending that normal, non-genius people understand.

Puzzles have always fascinated Sherlock, and this one is no different. Because they _are _a puzzle. Their relationship is as complex as a thousand piece jigsaw of a twisting maze, and infinitely more labyrinthine. They have many facets, different pieces, to their relationship. And each one is entirely undefinable.

But Sherlock doesn't care. This is just one more puzzle he gets to unravel...And maybe, maybe, find something worthwhile in it's solution.


	13. No Choice

**Title:** No Choice.  
**Word Count: **176  
**Prompt:** No Choice  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** There was never any other option, another path for him to take. And, really, he didn't really want another.  
**Author's Note:**Because I _loved_ the 'Blogger' line, I had to incorporate it somewhere.

* * *

No Choice.

"_I'd be lost without my blogger,"_

There's no choice. There was never any choice. Because, really, what were the options? A life of dullness, of anonymity and worrying about stupid things like bus timetables. Or a unbelievable life of thrills, of adrenaline and of Sherlock running by his side. A life that John sometimes expects to wake up and find it's all just inside his head. What would anyone choose?

So, he makes his choice. The only choice he can make. He sees the flicker of something in Sherlock's eyes as he chooses, as though he's scared that John for once won't follow. And John knows, now more than ever, that however unintentionally Sherlock has robbed him of any other choices.

But, as he nods, follows, and sees the smile on Sherlock's face that he wasn't meant to see, he realises something that's been staring him in the face for weeks. There's no other options, no other paths he can take. But he knows that, even given the choice, he'd never choose anything or any_one _else.


	14. Can't Find The Words

**Title:** Can't Find The Words.  
**Word Count: **211  
**Prompt:** Words  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** It was almost an impossible task, writing his blog. Because how do you describe Sherlock Holmes?  
**Author's Note:** I am currently off school ill, so writing these is occupying my days. I'm writing too many! And, again with the blog, I love it.

* * *

Can't Find The Words.

How can anyone put into words what it means to run beside Sherlock Holmes?

How can anyone coherently explain that, that, spark of electricity like a lightening bolt that surges down his spine and through his veins as he sees Sherlock's face light up with the prospect of a new case – excitement because Sherlock always brings him along, excitement because of what that expression does to Sherlock's face.

How can anyone even _begin _to describe the adrenaline, the exhilaration, the freedom of standing beside the enigmatic riddle of a madman and knowing, utterly knowing that you're the only one who he trusts, who he cares for.

How can anyone form words that acutely and accurately tell of what it feels like to see that ludicrously _brilliant_ man when he's at his most human; reluctantly falling to sleep after John covers him with a blanket and demands him to rest. At his most vulnerable; awakening from said rest with blurry eyes, dulled senses and a rumpled appearance that always looks most strange on the man. Or at his most content; Hitting upon the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle that he'll have been working on religiously, and throwing back his head in a blissful sigh of _Yes..._

How can anyone describe that?


	15. Perfectly Imperfect

**Title: **Perfectly Imperfect  
**Word Count: **220  
**Prompt:**Perfect  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Neither are perfect, but together get pretty close.**  
Author's Note:** I get tired of romance stories (In general, I mean) that describe the other person as 'perfect'. No-one is perfect, it's part of being human. I thought I'd write something about that.

* * *

Perfectly Imperfect.

Find a perfect someone, and you might as well give yourself a shiny medal, a pat on the back and a big 'good for you'. Because, honestly, you'll be the only person in the world, ever, to have found a perfect someone. They don't exist. No-one is perfect, and for some reason we can't deal with that.

Sherlock Holmes is not perfect. Not by any stretch of the imagination. He is rude, he is obnoxious, he plays his violin to all hours of the morning, he doesn't speak for days on end and when he does speak it's usually insulting, he is cold and calculating enough that it almost borders on heartless.

John Watson is not perfect. He'll be the first to admit it. He's got an explosive temper to rival that of fireworks, he curses too much, he jumps back and forth over the steadily blurring line between right and wrong, he wears his heart on his sleeve, and he's more than likely to die before reaching forty because he takes such stupidly noble risks.

Neither are perfect, but neither are completely flawed. They have their roughened edges and their missing pieces, sure, but that just makes it so much easier for them to mesh, join and align themselves until together they make something perfect because it's not.


	16. That's What Friends Do

**Title:** That's What Friends Do.  
**Word Count: **186  
**Prompt: **Defensive  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary: **Because John just has enough of the snide remarks. Isn't that what friends do?  
**Author's ****Note: **As amusing as the ease with which Sherlock put down Donovan and Anderson was, I enjoy the idea of John wanting to stick up for him. Also, I just really want to thank all the incredible people who are reviewing this fiction. Seriously, I have been unable to stop smiling. So thankyou. X

* * *

That's What Friends Do.

Sherlock's smile just won't disappear. Well, not so much a smile rather it's Sherlock's oddly unique little half-smile that tugs lazily on one side of his mouth. But still, he can't wipe it away. And he probably should, because it's lighting up his already handsome face and is making John awfully distracted. Mainly because the smile is directed straight at John himself.

It was knee-jerk reaction, really. The final stone that broke through the wall of John's patience. The last pathetic insult flung in Sherlock's direction that John was going to stand for. And it had been worth it, he thinks, just to see Donovan's and Anderson's faces when they remembered that John Watson _had _been in the army, and he _wasn't_ about to take any of their snide remarks or catty quips lying down.

Maybe he's just made it worse, and he can already hear their whispers starting up again as they leave the crime scene and Sherlock stands a little bit closer to him than he did upon entering. But he doesn't regret it. Not when Sherlock's smiling at him like that.


	17. Lips

**Title:** Lips.  
**Word Count: **171  
**Prompt:** Lips  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** A pair of lips should _not _be able to haunt him so.  
**Author's Note:**So sue me, I wanted to focus on the lips for a while. - Also, to those who asked whether I was doing a long-length story...I am, I'm on chapter fourteen...but I'm unsure whether to post it. Would you read it if I put it up...? it _is_ JohnSherlock, by the way. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

Lips.

His smirk is too seductive to be legal. No man should be able to twist his lips and instantly force others to think about kissing them. It's not fair. John doesn't want to be tormented by the delicious thought of kissing that exquisite smirk til it's a pleasantly surprised yet genuine smile that Sherlock's smiling just for him.

His troubled frown is too perturbing to describe. The slight crease between his eyebrows, the gentle wrinkling of his pale nose, the unsettled and unconscious chewing of his distracting lips. It's disconcerting for John to see his...roommate look so confused. It doesn't look right on Sherlock's face. But his lips still capture John's attention.

But it's his smile, his _genuine_ smile, that is the most haunting. That smile that pulls up at the corner of his lips without Sherlock even consciously realising it himself. He looks so peaceful, so carefree, so _happy_. And it's so contagious that when Sherlock actually smiles his real smile, John has no choice but to smile back.


	18. Home Is Where You Stop Running

**Title:** Home Is Where You Stop Running  
**Word Count: **344  
**Prompt:** Home  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Because it's hard to move through the world, when you've got nowhere to return to.  
**Author's Note:**Oh, new longest one! Whoa, I have no idea where this came from. I was just watching a new TV show (Nikita) and it had the line 'Home is where you stop running' and it seemed appropriate. I've also just put up a 'Sherlock' oneshot, so if you'd like to read it, it's there for your enjoyment.

* * *

Home Is Where You Stop Running.

A child understands what 'Home' is. 'Home' is the smell of Mummy and Daddy as they dress you up in woollen scarfs and bobbled hats to protect you from the cold outdoors. 'Home' is curling up under covers that you've split your drink on, but don't tell your parents because you promised not to spill it. 'Home' is eating soggy cereal in the morning, and dressing yourself haphazardly in your school-uniform because you're a big boy now, and having your parents adjust it for you. 'Home' is happy, and 'Home' is safe.

It is a fair assessment to say that a teenager cannot comprehend that same concept of 'Home'. They have their own definition. In youth, 'Home' is the moment you choose it to be. 'Home' is the friends you love with all the depth a teenager can hold. 'Home' is laughter, and the seductive present that matters before reality sets in. 'Home' is summer days spent with lingering hugs, promises of forever, and the space in-between childhood and the terrors of adulthood. 'Home' is fluctuating, and 'Home' is everything and nothing.

But as an adult, 'Home' is hard to find. Because all of those definitions that were 'Home' before, no longer fit. 'Home' cannot be defined by the comforting presence of parents, or the mesmerising feeling of teenagerdom.

Sherlock's heard some of the expressions that adults use to define home; 'Home is where the heart is' springs to mind with the most ease. But he doubts that to be as true as some naïvely believe it to be.

He has experienced Home throughout his life – Home as a child sitting on his mother's knee. Home as a teenager on the cusp of maturity, setting out into the world...And now, he thinks, that he's found it again – for hopefully the last time.

Sherlock is a man who runs through the world, and so Home must be where you stop running. And Sherlock knows that the one place he can just _stop_ is 221b Baker Street, with John Watson at his side.


	19. Looking At Him Like That

**Title:** Looking At Him Like That  
**Word Count:** 163  
**Prompt:** Stripped.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Because, beneath all the genius and the oddities, Sherlock is just a man.  
**Author's Note:** Okay, just another huge thankyou to all the fantastic people who are reviewing this, and those who reviewed my oneshot. The last vignette was a lot longer than usual, (They're getting longer, I have too much to say) so this is the next slightly smaller one. Thankyou.

* * *

Looking At Him Like That.

Maybe Sherlock's just imagining it – And he's never had much patience for imagination before – but the way John looks at him is different than how he's ever been looked at before. He's seen hatred, disgust, annoyance, toleration, amusement...but nothing like John.

John has this way of looking at him sometimes that just strips him bare; It peels back all the layers of genius he wraps himself in, takes away all his accomplishments, all his pride, and leave nothing but the slightly-too-tall, twenty-something-year-old whose running through the world all alone...

And then there's that slow grin that paints itself across John's face, that curve that Sherlock can't take his eyes off, which promises that John'll never tell anyone what he sees.

But he sees the slight twinkle in John's eyes, that tells Sherlock how much John likes what he sees in the man Sherlock is, and he's glad that John thinks it's worthwhile looking at him like that.


	20. Rain, Rain, Go Away

**Title:** Rain, Rain, Go Away  
**Word Count:** 188**  
Prompt:** Rain  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Summary:** It's something every child should know, so of course Sherlock is clueless.  
**Author's Note:** A little different to my usual style, but I quite like it. If you do too, I shall attempt more. Thankyou.

* * *

Rain, Rain, Go Away.

Torrents of the unceasing rain that had plagued London unrelentingly for the past week like some incurable sickness strike the kitchen window of 221b Baker Street, causing the interesting patterns of crystal rivulets to shimmer and blur into another sheet water that obscure the occupants of said flat from outside view.

Hands buried in murky dish-water, mind immersed in even foggier thoughts, John Watson's lips move unconsciously in tandem with the distorted John Watson opposite him in the window.

"_Rain, Rain, go away, come again another day_..." It's a song laced in scraped knees on the playground, shuffling along in too-large rain-coats and the rabble that only children deprived of their playtime outside can cause. It's the song that is passed down, generation to generation, and every adult reclaims a shred of youth when it's sung or hummed.

A body is pressed flush against his own as he continues his quiet humming, a nose tucked into his neck and a smirk against his skin. "You are _so_ odd," Within the refined accent, the ghosting breath of a stifled snicker, Sherlock's amusement is tangible.

"Pot, kettle,"


	21. Secrecy

**Title:** Secrecy  
**Word Count:** 268  
**Prompt:** Secrets  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Summary:** Uncovering secrets is what Sherlock does.  
**Author's Note:** Again, thankyou to all the amazing reviewers. You make my day every time I see that the number has gone up. Okay so, the secret John has in this is open to interpretation, but I'd love to know what you think it should/would/could be.

**

* * *

**Secrecy.

Everyone has secrets. It's a fact of life. What the secrets are, well, that varies from person to person, but the general concept is spread across humanity. Everyone has skeletons in the closet. Whether it's a teenager cheating on a science test, a husband with a secret lover ten miles away, or a body buried deep in the middle of the forests, everyone has them.

Sherlock lives off of these secrets. These mysteries that people cover up and put out of their mind. He thrives from them, pulsing and bubbling until he doesn't even seem human at all anymore, seems so much more because no-one human could have figured it out like that. He finds that tell, that little thing that gives the person away – whether in their face, their actions or their houses – and digs until it all comes to light. The facts are there, Sherlock reasons, _anyone _could see them. But of course, they couldn't. Because no-one's him.

Another thing about Secrets. People don't take too kindly to them being aired.

So, after having found this out repeatedly throughout his life and repelling people rather effectively by revealing all to their loved ones, he's faced with an odd dilemma when he catches John Watson's eyes slide away one too many times while they speak, or he sees John's hands ball up from the corner of his eyes.

Everyone has secrets, and John Watson is no different. But John is the only one whose privacy Sherlock respects. Not for altruistic purposes, you realise, but because he can't stand the thought of driving away John, too.


	22. Does It Hurt?

**Title:** Does It Hurt?  
**Word Count:** 138  
**Prompt:** Pain  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** John doesn't like to be touched on his shoulder.  
**Author's Note:** Okay, so, I have a lot of Vignettes saved on my laptop, and I was intending to post them chronologically, but then I wrote this one last night and I was just _dying_ to post it. It's an actual 'They're together' one, and so I enjoy writing those.

* * *

Does It Hurt?

Their breathing syncs, his head drops to the crook of Sherlock's pale neck with closed eyes. Sherlock's hands feel like the tickle of spider-legs, tracing along the scarred skin of the soldier before him. Then the touch, feather-light and fleeting, skims across the bare skin of his shoulder, the tangled and ragged raw mess of skin and scars – and John winces.

"Does it hurt?" The voice is low, canorous, and edged with the sharp intake of breath that bespeaks Sherlock's hidden concern.

"_No_," Because Sherlock's gentle touch is like butterfly wings, teasing the fragile nerve-endings and sending confusing signals to his brain. Then Sherlock's lips caress the same path the pads of his fingertips have, treating the marred skin with a pure reverence John has only seen paid to lost Gods.

"Does this?"

"God, no"


	23. Such A Crazy Thing To Do

**Title:** Such A Crazy Thing To Do  
**Word Count: **284  
**Prompt:** Falling In Love  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** As a man so detatched from humanity, Sherlock is constantly baffled by the idiocy of humanity's way of falling in love. Until he does so himself.  
**Author's Note:** Because I just love the idea of Sherlock sitting and thinking about how _stupid_ everyone else is...and having to admit that he is too. For once. _Also_, I have a lot of vignettes saved but I keep getting stuck on which to post next, so I'd really appreciate your help. Next, would you like; 'I Love You' or 'Inadequacy'? Thankyou so much.

* * *

Such A Crazy Thing To Do

Falling in love...seems such a crazy thing to do. Such an idiotic thing that Sherlock doesn't think that the act should be even comprehensible to a mind like his (That's not arrogance, it's true...Okay, maybe there's some arrogance there but that's just him.)

It's stupid. It's that one stupid person, who should be no different than any other stupid person, did that one stupid thing like smile at him and wandered into his own stupid life. And flipped things up so haphazardly that Sherlock can't help but feel slightly moronic.

Falling in love is _dangerous_. Falling in love, opens your chest, opens up your heart and allows someone to crawl inside and wreck whatever havoc they wish within there. He spent all of his time building up all of these defenses and walls against the rest of the world, because the rest of the world is dull, because then nothing can touch him. But love finds that one chink in the armour and _pulls_ until it's enough.

Love is such a unkind thing. Love takes hostages, Love can cut and bleed and _hurt_ just so goddamn much that he doesn't know what to do with himself. It even hurts when he's happy, because there's _always_ that little voice in the back of his brain that whispers _this'll never work_.

Falling in love is...so quintessentially _human _that, as a man so detatched from humanity, Sherlock can't quite believe it when he does. And he figures out the reason why the human race are so stupid as to let love mess up their lives. Because having that one person in your life, letting that John Watson into your life...is so worth it.


	24. Three Little Words

**Title:** Three Little Words  
**Word Count: **309  
**Prompt:** I love you  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Saying 'I Love You' isn't easy for a higher functioning sociopath.  
**Author's Note:** Most people chose 'I Love You', so here it is. You have no idea how hard this was to write, I wanted to have them saying they loved each other but it just seemed so...not them. I hope you enjoy what I came up with. I'll be putting Inadequacy up next, for those who wanted that one. Thankyou.

* * *

Three Little Words.

Three words, eight letters, five vowels, three consonants, two spaces, one full stop (Or exclamation mark, if he wanted) and one hell of a lot of consequences.

Sometimes it's easier for Sherlock to focus on the facts. Facts are neutral, no baffling emotions to swing one way or the other. The emotions behind those three words are a lot more complex and difficult to unravel.

But facts can be scary too. The fact that if Sherlock _does_ say these three words, eight letters, five vowels and three consonants, there won't be the wished-for, desired-for, hoped-for from the bottom of his heart, response of four words, eleven letters, seven vowels, four consonants and one little comma.

How do people do this? He wonders frantically with those three words, eight letters kicking about on his tongue and waiting for him to open his mouth. How do people manage to say those three words, inconsequential separately but life-changingly important when strung together as the small sentence?

Maybe some people just let them slip out, say them without meaning to when their heart overrides their mind for a few seconds. Maybe others spend weeks, months, planning out the situations for saying them, the pitch of voice for saying them, the position of their bodies as they say them.

He'd always assumed that, of the two, he'd have fallen into the second bracket. But it's lying sprawled across the sofa, John by his side, watching some idiotic movie that John picked out and Sherlock's spent most of the time refraining from insulting, that the words just tumble off his tongue.

But when John's eyes dance, and his lips form around that coveted answer that Sherlock had hardly dared hope for, Sherlock doesn't regret it.

Three words, eight letters, five vowels, three consonants, two spaces, one full stop.

_Nothing to it._


	25. Nothing To Say

**Title:** Nothing To Say  
**Word Count: **233  
**Prompt:** Inadequate  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Because it's difficult, living with a genius.  
**Author's Note:** I thought that, realistically, if anyone were to live with a character like Sherlock, there'd be moments of not feeling good enough. So, I wrote my first 'angst'_-ish_ vignette. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Nothing To Say.

The flat is still, silent, and the air smells of experiments, books, and Earl Grey. John isn't quite sure what to say of it, because the flat is rarely silent and his roommate rarely still. Feet bare and toes like crippling ice in the cold morning, he stands partially in the doorway, hearing pages rustle from within the dimly-lit room. Some part of his mind, tells him to watch and remain quiet, and he follows the thought without thinking.

Sherlock reads haphazardly, sprawled across the sofa in a way that shouldn't be elegant but is, his book hanging a little too close to his nose. His eyes are flickering, absorbing the knowledge and sorting it into his fantastic mind with a pure and childlike joy. His free hand dances by his side, as though impatient to learn what the book has to offer.

John can't help but stare now; Sherlock is startlingly stunning in this unguarded moment he's created for himself. The air around Sherlock crackles with genius, the silence tauntingly whispering words too complex and theories too convoluted for John, even as a medical man, to fathom.

The trembling inadequacy surges in him, freezing his movements, shivering as it begins at the pads of his fingertips and clenches around his heart - He has nothing to say to a man like this.

Hoping Sherlock does not hear his movements, John slips away.


	26. Distractions

**Title:** Distractions  
**Word Count: **165  
**Prompt:**Reading  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** A bored Sherlock is never a good thing, but at least it's better than bullets in the wall.  
**Author's Note: **Thankyou again for all of the wonderful reviews from all you amazing people. And so many people feeling sorry for John, too. I admit, I felt rather mean putting him through that. So I've done a nice 'They're Together' chapter to make it up to him. (I think I sound slightly insane,)

* * *

Distractions.

Feeling a sense of rare calm that only a lack of cases and a weekend free can give him, John slumps lazily in his chair and looses his tired brown eyes in the book splayed across his lap. The flat is almost silent, but for the gentle bubbling of liquids from Sherlock's latest experiment that has managed to captivate the dark-haired man for a brief snatch of time.

The tell-tale brush of lips against his neck, and the gentle warmth curving itself on the arm of his chair tells John that Sherlock's fleeting interest has waned. "Sherlock, I'm busy,"

"Oh?" The supreme lack of interest whispers out against the flesh of his neck, lips smirking around the word.

"Yes, kindly bugger off," It's a testimony to John's stubbornness that he manages to turn the page and continue reading.

"You'd prefer to read?" Nipping at John's jawline now, Sherlock's breathy chuckle fans across John's face, almost succeeding in breaking the man's concentration.

"Yes,"

"Liar,"


	27. Nothing Beats It

**Title:** Nothing Beats It.  
**Word Count: **381  
**Prompt:**Arguing  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** It's impossible to live with a man like Sherlock without little frustration bubbling over. But John doesn't mind at all.  
**Author's Note:** Again, these vignettes just get out of control and become much longer than I originally intend them to be. Oops? This is also now officially my new most chaptered fiction on this site! Yey! But anyway, I hope you enjoy it - Also, next, which would you prefer Scars or Heroes? Thankyou

* * *

Nothing Beats It.

Arguing with Sherlock comes with the territory of loving him. Mild arguments in jest about his odd little quirks. Heated ones which normally end with one or the other storming away for the night, only to return the next morning with mumbled apologies. Or the fiery arguments drawn together of terror while waiting at the foot of a hospital bed and praying to God that he'd wake.

John knows how strange they can sometimes appear, raging from shouting matches that have Mrs Hudson checking to see that they're both still alive, and then simmering immediately back to as close to normal as they can get. He supposes that anyone else would have left months ago once they realised that Sherlock can get angry about the most irrational things in the world (_For instance, John not answering a question – John being on the other side of London at the time_) and yet seems completely unable to comprehend why John might be angry about coming home to find the sofa on fire (_It wasn't on purpose, John. I'm not an idiot_).

He realises how dysfunctional their relationship is – Donovan's commented more than enough times, thankyou very much. He admits that it's entirely odd and unreasonable that Sherlock can go from 0 to pissed in 3.5 seconds for something as simple as John not answering a text when he's only across the room. And he can't deny that Sherlock's mood swings are more than a little disconcerting; Such as him being right in the middle of yelling something John doesn't understand before he stops, grins widely at something he's figured out, kisses John soundly and then disappears without a word, leaving John to deal with the concerned and knowing looks of Scotland Yard.

Yes, it's strange. Yes, it's not healthy. And yes, it's in no way, shape or form normal. But arguing with Sherlock is one of John's favourite pass-times. Because nothing beats seeing the competitive glint in Sherlock's eyes, nor can surpass the thrill that races down his spine on the rare occasions he manages to argue Sherlock into speechlessness. Or when Sherlock retaliates by bleeding his speed into kisses in an attempt to reclaim victory.

So if arguing comes with the territory of loving him, John's doesn't mind in the slightest.


	28. We All Have Our Scars

**Title:** We All Have Our Scars**  
Word Count: **211  
**Prompt:** Scars**  
Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Even Sherlock needs someone to patch him up.**  
Author's Note:** This was something that came to me entirely randomly, I just thought of how nice the idea was and had to write it down. Thankyou again to everyone who's reviewing, you make my day everytime.

* * *

We All Have Our Scars.

Hands, exuding warmth but rising goosebumps on his porcelain skin, unbutton the cotton shirt that blossoms with macabre crimson petals and reveal the jagged gash of blood in Sherlock's side. He feels John's hand stutter for a second before he collects himself and dresses scarlet wounds with creamy gauze, never shaking once, his touch gentle yet firm against Sherlock's bare skin.

Sherlock hisses as John dabs at the wound, his teeth clenching and his nostrils stinging at the scent of the orange liquid. He opens his eyes, ignoring the water in his eyes, he sees the concern smouldering in John's gentle blue eyes as he evaluates Sherlock's battered flesh with a keen intensity that rivals Sherlock's own scintillating stare. The medical man shining through.

"You're an idiot,"

Sherlock bites back a pained chuckle at the man, shrugging off the ruined shirt completely now so that John can bind him. "So you've said. Many times, in fact"

"Well, I mean it,"

"I thought doctors were meant to be _nurturing_?"

"Don't recall that in the Hippocratic oath,"

"Check the fine print,"

Sherlock's got a whole galaxy of scars scattered across his ivory skin now - badges of stupidity, John calls them - but so long as John's there to look after him he doesn't care.


	29. Heroes Don't Exist

**Title:** Heroes Don't Exist.  
**Word Count: **159  
**Prompt:**Heroes  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Heroes are confined to the fictional world, but Sherlock is fine with that.  
**Author's Note:** Yet another line that I loved (Again with the imperfections of people), and I had to incorporate it.  
Also, I've finally worked up the courage to put up the first chapter of my multi-chaptered Sherlock fic. Please, I would greatly appreciate it if you would take a look. Thankyou.

* * *

Heroes Don't Exist.

There are no heroes left in the world. Call it cynical if you wish, but Sherlock knows it's true. Heroes are confined to the fictional world, they do not walk around London each day.

Heroes are flawless, perfectly polished figures of morals and goodness. Tales of heroes are told to young children at night, to protect them from the horrors of humanity that splash across the news. Heroes slip off glasses and become human once more. Humans are not heroes.

People can be..._amazing_. Sherlock, detatched and scornful of humanity as he is, does admit this from time to time. But heroes do not exist. Heroes are works of fiction.

"_Heroes don't exist, John. And if they did, I wouldn't be one of them,"_

He stands by that. And he highly doubts that John fits into the role of the Femme Fatale...but maybe he'll mention it to just see the other man's face go bright red with indignation.


	30. Like A Work Of Fiction

**Title:** Like A Work Of Fiction.  
**Word Count: **128  
**Prompt:**Real  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** John heard about men like Sherlock in bedtime stories when he was young. They weren't real.  
**Author's Note:** This is as close as I will get to admitting that Sherlock is _fictional_. Also, thankyou to everyone who went to review or favourite my other story, and to you amazing people I have nothing but happy thoughts.

* * *

Like A Work Of Fiction.

"You're not real, you know?" Eyes wide, voice addled and slurred with the subtle edge of alcohol, John speaks with the certainty only the inebriated can as he sways unsteadily on his feet.

"I can assure you I am," Sherlock tuts lightly, maintaining his superiority with his sobriety, but he still can't quite smother those smiles of amusement at his endearingly intoxicated roommate.

"No, I mean, you're like some character from a novel,"

"How flattering," The slow drawl cracks, like treacle splitting, into a muted chuckle.

"Sort of like '_Once upon a time, I met a man unlike any other; Sherlock Holmes',_"

The lazy slope of Sherlock's lips quirks as John tumbles down by his side, the leather of the sofa sighing beneath them. "Do shut up, John,"


	31. Domestic For Once

**Title: **Domestic For Once  
**Word Count: **279  
**Prompt:**Domestic  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Sherlock is a man who would never have let himself become dull and _domestic_, but there are times in the silence between cases that where he allows himself to get pretty damn close.**  
Author's Note:** Thankyou all for reviewing, and which would you prefer next 'Romance' or 'Jealous'?

* * *

Domestic For Once.

_Hmm, how odd..._

Tilting his head to one side, like an inquisitive owl with something interesting within it's sights, Sherlock surveys the haphazard mess of his room – the flotsam and jetsam of his life. He's rarely in his room, much too quiet, but he's spending more and more time in there as of late, and the differences are astounding.

Italian leather shoes, abandoned at the end of the bed and coupled with rumpled socks. Nothing abnormal there. But the battered trainers, smudged with dirt and the laces frayed at the edges, they're new. The wardrobe door is hanging slightly open and he focuses his keen eyes on the odd mixture inside; brown woollen sleeves brushing up against pressed slim-cut suits. And the sight of his BlackBerry, resting against the side of a weapon that's usually tucked into the waistband of cheap jeans, makes his mouth curve into his quarter-smile, and he turns back into the warmth of his duvet.

John has, quite successfully it seems, managed to integrate himself into Sherlock's bedroom. Actually, Sherlock has to acknowledge now that the pair of them are in fact _sharing_ the bedroom. Sharing the bed. It's not Sherlock's room, it's their room.

His arm snakes around the warm body next to him, pulling John that bit closer without waking him. Sherlock and John, paralleled all across the room; the expensive and the comfortable, the polished opposite the battered, the information against the protection.

But it's the way that John mumbles in his sleep, turns and buries himself unconsciously under Sherlock's chin, that hits it home how domestic Sherlock might have let himself become.

And right now, he couldn't care less.


	32. Own Kind Of Romance

**Title:** Own Kind Of Romance  
**Word Count: **228  
**Prompt:** Romance  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** They've always done things differently, this is no exception.  
**Author's Note:** Romance was the winner, so I'll do Jealousy next. Okay, so, this is inspired by all the rom-coms that I've been forced to watch in my fifteen years, and why they would _so _not suit John and Sherlock. And this fiction just hit the 100 review mark, so thankyou to all of you amazing people who helped me get this far.

* * *

Own Kind Of Romance.

They'll never be ones for romance.

After all, one is Sherlock Holmes; the 'unfeeling son-of-a-bitch with a heart of stone'. And the other is John Watson; the 'stoic ex-soldier' with emotional walls barring anyone from getting even remotely near him. And it would just be wrong to see the pair of them being..._sweet_.

They are both people who find little to no importance in great romantic gestures, or sappy sweet-nothings whispered in ears. Who can imagine John Watson waxing poetic about his undying love? Who can even _comprehend_ Sherlock Holmes referring to another as 'Honey' or 'Love'? It is completely implausible and so, so...not them.

Of course, that it not to say there aren't...signs as it is. There's the way that they now sit _just _a few inches closer to each other than before. Or the way that Sherlock always manages to touch John at least once when they're in the same room, whether it's a light touch on the arm or a hand brushing across the small of John's back as he passes to point out some fact that Scotland Yard has missed. Or the way John's stony eyes dance as Sherlock smiles and rattles off deduction after deduction.

True, they'll never be ones for _conventional_ romance. But in truth, they prefer their own brand of romance much more.


	33. Jealousy

**Title:** Jealousy  
**Word Count: **218  
**Prompt:** Jealous  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Jealousy is a curious emotion, but Sherlock is quick to mark what's his own.  
**Author's Note:** I thought that Sherlock would be the type of person to be possessive over his things and it'd be amusing to see what he'd do. Thankyou to all you wonderful people who keep on reviewing, you make my day every time I turn on the laptop.

* * *

Jealousy.

Seeing John, good kind noble John, pouring over police files with _Donovan _of all people, his face pulled into a concentrated frown, makes an odd spark flicker into life in Sherlock's brain. A spark of irritation and a splash of some unnameable emotion that vehemently tells him _That's my place_.

It's only when John thanks her warmly – because John thanks everyone warmly, no matter how nettlesome they are - that Sherlock manages to label it as 'Jealousy'. It's an odd, unfamiliar and _entirely unwelcome_ emotion.

"You're mine," He breathes later against the sensitive skin of John's neck, peppering the skin with silken kisses. "_My_ John," He presses John into the wall of 221b, as though barring him exit.

"Is this jealousy, Mr Holmes? I thought you were above such things," He teases breathlessly as Sherlock's lips whisper across his flesh, increasing in intensity as he moves.

"I am above nothing," His kisses turn fiery, edged with burning possessiveness, his fingers trailing to the dip in John's shirt collar and the buttons beneath, summoning a shiver from the man pulled tight against him.

"Clearly,"


	34. Down The Rabbit Hole

**Title:** Down The Rabbit Hole  
**Word Count: **226  
**Prompt:** Drugs  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Sherlock has always disappointed people with his..._habit_. But never has someone hit it as home as the look in John's eyes,  
**Author's Note: **Right, I did a 'John in angst' vignette, so I had to do a 'Sherlock in angst' one to balance it out. References to drug-use.

* * *

Down The Rabbit Hole.

Sherlock doesn't often slip, and if he ever does the consequences are rarely worse than the disapproving eye of Mycroft for a month or so. But now when he lets himself tumble down the rabbit hole, he's leaving behind something much more important than that naïve little Alice ever did.

Eyes keen, yet oddly dulled, he blinks into the sudden light and his jumping heart sinks several inches in his chest. John is sitting across from him, his face turned upwards and gazing unseeingly at the ceiling. He looks like a statue, sadness clinging to his every line, and Sherlock has never seen him look so broken.

He makes to speak, but John beats him to it. "Why?" His voice is quiet, expressionless. "Why would you do something so _stupid_?"

Lies, well-rehearsed and practiced from years of experience, rise to his tongue. But he'll never disrespect John by using them, so he doesn't speak, simply praying that John can read the apology in his silence and in his eyes.

"There are a thousand reasons why I shouldn't love you, Sherlock," John continues in that eerie calm that bespeaks only the most terrifying of angers. And each word drives a knife into Sherlock's chest. "Please don't give me another one,"

Before Sherlock can move, John leaves, the image of his pain burned forever into Sherlock's mind.


	35. Hold Onto Me

**Title:** Hold Onto Me  
**Word Count: **156  
**Prompt:** Hospital  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Of all the times that Sherlock's been taken to hospital, there's never once been a single visitor.  
**Author's Note:** I felt so bad for poor Sherlock after the last vignette, so I wrote a nicer one for them both. _Could_ be seen as a follow-on. I didn't intend it that way, but feel free to do with it what you will. Again, thankyou to all of the amazing people who are reviewing this.

* * *

Hold Onto Me

"_Sherlock_," The word, more a sigh really, slips free from John's lips before he can stop it. He coughs, skin tinting for a just about a second before he crosses to Sherlock's side with stumbling feet

"John, I'm fine," But Sherlock remains still in his hospital bed as John runs warm palms across Sherlock's skin - which is littered in splinters of cuts - allowing the doctor his peace of mind. He hisses as the fingers cross paths with torn wounds, flickering pain smarting despite John's soft touch. Regardless of this, Sherlock can't help but lean into the caress.

In a motion neither are sure who initiates, John's arms are wrapped around the battered and bruised detective and Sherlock's face is pressed into John's hair. The embrace is clumsy, but emphatic with love and worry.

"Your hair is in my nose," Sherlock mumbles, but makes no move to extricate himself from John's grip.

"You're an idiot,"

"I know,"


	36. Never Resting, Never Still

**Title:** Never Resting, Never Still.  
**Word Count: **205  
**Prompt:**Resting  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Because getting Sherlock to _stop_ is a herculean effort.  
**Author's Note:** My laptop died today! I was so terrified, but the awesome dude on the phone was magical and fixed it! Yay him. I think I may _have_ to worship him, or send him cookies. Next, would you like 'Silence' or 'God'? Thankyou!

* * *

Never Resting, Never Still.

"Sit _down_, Sherlock," John rolls his eyes, tugging the jittering detective by the sleeve until he topples haphazardly down by his side on the ruffled bed. "You're meant to be resting,"

The consulting detective, clad in only his pyjamas that show just a few too many inches of pale ankle, sprawls himself across the bed in a way that looks entirely too dishevelled and immoral for a man who's been released from hospital only hours ago. "That doctor was an idiot, I stopped listening to him,"

"Just because you didn't like him, doesn't mean you shouldn't listen to him,"

"I have _you_ for medical advice,"

"And I agree with him,"

Breathing a sigh of what John assumes to be defeat out between his lips, Sherlock scowls and collects John's left hand in his, playing with the calloused fingers of the other man petulantly as his mind whirs.

"So, I have to stay here? In this room? In this _bed_?"

"Resting, Sherlock, you're meant to be resting,"

The smirk gracing Sherlock's lips is sinful enough to spin wicked fantasies in John's brain. "I'll be gentle, I promise," And the smile promises that John will not be leaving the room for as long as Sherlock's convalescence lasts.


	37. Believe

**Title:** Believe  
**Word Count: **280  
**Prompt:**God  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Religion is a touchy subject for all humans, even Sherlock Holmes.  
**Author's Note:**I am deeply sorry if I offend any religious people with this vignette, that is not my intention. And I aplogise in advance for the little rant at the end. Please forgive me.

* * *

Believe

Sherlock does not believe in God.

Maybe it's an unwillingness to accept that something undefinable is running the universe, because if it's undefinable then he can't figure it out. Or maybe it's the lack of evidence, of cold hard facts that he needs to cling to. Or maybe it's just that he's seen too much to even consider such a thing as a benevolent God. But, whichever it is, Sherlock long ago decided that the idea of a God and creator of all things was one thing that he wouldn't allow his mind to comprehend. He doesn't like the idea of living by rules that aren't his own. All that Thou Shalt, and Thou Shalt Not...being told what to do isn't exactly a specialty of his.

Being a man such as he is, people don't tend to see his point of view on anything. It's a people-thing, he realises, when they don't like a person then they pick at every frayed and imperfect edge until they unravel. So, once this is picked up, the whispers of _cold, emotionless, pessimistic, idiot_, get somewhat louder.

So, he's reluctant to allow John – the only person to put up with his other eccentricities – to know this about him. Because he knows that religion is the one subject that people get irrational over.

But what he doesn't know is that John doesn't just 'put up' with all of Sherlock's oddities, and he won't just 'put up' with this newest revelation. Because, John knows, that if the man didn't have all of these peculiarities and odd little quirks...well, he just wouldn't be Sherlock now, would he?

And that's all John cares about, really.

* * *

**Just a quick note from me** - to the anonymous reviewer **'Erin'**. I have to reply to your review this way because your reviewed anonymously. I just have a few points to raise in response to your review.  
1/ - This is a fanfiction for the **T.V Show** of Sherlock, therefore I do not have to have read the books.  
2/ - Incidentally, I have read the books.  
3/ - Fanfiction is about people writing what they wish, and not what others want them to.  
4/ - You misspelled characters. It is, in fact, spelled 'C-H-A-R-A-C-T-E-R-S'  
But I'm happy to help,


	38. Silence Speaks Louder

**Title: **Silence Speaks Louder...  
**Word Count: **181  
**Prompt:**Silence  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** You never notice something's missing, until it's back again.  
**Author's Note:** I enjoy the idea that Sherlock misses John when he's gone, whether it be work or simply the shops. Maybe he's a bit needy, but hey, can you blame him? Also, this is now officially my most reviewed fiction on this site. So, seriously, thankyou to everyone who is reviewing. So, so much.

* * *

Silence Speaks Louder...

It is silent in 221b Baker Street for once, and Sherlock _hates _it. Granted, he's not used to this abnormality. Usually the flat is filled with a whole gallimaufry of assorted sounds and murmurs - and even a new one to him; laughter - that Sherlock only realises the existence of once they're taken away.

Since he's never been described as 'social', at least not in a way that wasn't dripping with sarcasm, he's had to become used to days of silence passing by with only his own thoughts for company. Then again, it's better to be alone than in poor company, he's always thought.

On the other hand, he's never had company like John Watson.

And John _should_ be here. Should be pattering about in the kitchen making tea, or filling in his crosswords and reluctantly asking for Sherlock's help, or simply smiling at him and wearing his ridiculous jumpers.

He'll come back, it's not like John's gone any further than the supermarket to pick up the essentials that John insists they need. But Sherlock hates the silence that his absence causes.


	39. Always Comes Back

**Title:** Always Comes Back.  
**Word Count: **136  
**Prompt:** Sleep  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Sleep washes away that intoxicating personality, and John sometimes wonders if Sherlock will come back this time.  
**Author's Note:**Some of you asked for something where John misses Sherlock, and this was what my mind came up with. Maybe I just liked Benedict Cumberbatch in the Sherlock dressing gown, but the idea seemed to be pretty good. It's quite short, so I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Always Comes Back.

Sherlock probably already knows this, but John worries about the younger man while he sleeps.

Sherlock is like the essence of life, thumping blood through fiery veins, his heartbeat the never-ending drumbeat that tolls energetically and keeps John in time as he runs through life. Sherlock is the one with the vitriolic wit, that infinite capacity for genius and the surreal existence that John's amazed have even the slightest part of.

And it just looks so wrong for him to be asleep. Because when the spirit and fire is gone, all the genius is peeled away, and that sharp tongue is safely secured behind the lazy quarter-smile of sleep, John has to work hard to see his roommate in this stranger's face.

John worries about Sherlock while he sleeps, but Sherlock always comes back.


	40. The Happy Couple

**Title: **The Happy Couple  
**Word Count: **221  
**Prompt:**Wedding  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Mrs Hudson still hopes for 'Married Ones'**  
Authors Note:** Because the phrase 'Married Ones' amused me to no end. I _love_ Mrs Hudson!

**

* * *

**

The Happy Couple.

The happy couple, unrestrainable smiles on their faces, twirl elegantly across the crowded dance-floor like tiny music-box figures – seamless and beautiful. Hands clasped, they paint a perfect picture of happiness to any who look their way. Yet few do, reluctant to break the shining moment eclipsing the two.

"I can't _believe_ you dragged me here,"

A man with a raggle-taggle mop of curly black hair sits almost in the shadows, a look of petulance upon his pale face that would look most fitting upon the head of an unwilling child, and John Watson rolls his eyes.

"I'm guessing you don't want to dance, then?" The air around him sparkles with sarcasm, and the look Sherlock sends him ought to be framed and put in a museum somewhere. A museum entitled '_Oh, shut up, John,_' "It's my sister, Sherlock; I couldn't very well stay at home,"

Folding his arms across his chest in a knot so tight that John doubts even Scouts will be able to unravel, Sherlock makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat – an unwilling compliance.

Sighing through his nose but his lips tilting in a fond smile, John interlaces his fingers with Sherlock's. "C'mon. This _is _a wedding, and I don't think that that open bar has been pushed for what it's worth,"

"I entirely agree,"


	41. Realised It Yet?

**Title:** Realised It Yet?**  
Word Count: **259**  
Prompt:** The reviewer who asked for Mycroft interaction.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Because, for all of Sherlock's genius, Mycroft is the one with eyes across London.**  
Authors Note:** Okay, this looks like it's longer than the rest but it's really not. I just figured that any exchange between The Brothers Holmes would be full of mind-games. Also, I just realised that maybe this could slot into TGG in a 'missing moment' kind of way. If you want to read it that way, that'd be fine. Also, it's pre-relationship. Sorry.

* * *

Realised It Yet?

"You're looking well," Mycroft's voice is insufferably smooth, devoid of all the emotion he's unwilling to show to Sherlock. Because to talk to Sherlock is to talk to a statue, and Mycroft will not waste emotions on a sculpture.

"And _you've_ given up your latest diet," Sherlock doesn't even deign to look at his brother, his agile fingers skimming lyrically across the violin he holds in his hands.

"Must we play this immature game every time?"

Sherlock scoffs, bitterness tainting the single sound, and raises a slender eyebrow in challenge almost as though to say _you think you can take me?_ but doesn't say any more.

"How is Dr Watson?"

Sherlock's gaze turns fiery, glinting with the smouldering possessiveness that his eyes only take on when the subject turns to John, _his_ John. And Mycroft's mouth twitches as he recognises that he has the only winning hand. Because for all of Sherlock's deductions and witty quips about his weight, Mycroft is the one with the eyes across all of London.

"Have you realised it yet?" Mycroft finally smiles like he possess a secret Sherlock's so close to knowing, yet can't quite grasp. Sherlock _hates_ the idea of that.

But eventually curiosity, that insatiable desire that relentlessly twists around his mind, takes ahold of his tongue. "Realised what?" He asks, as though the words physically pain him.

Mycroft's smile turns triumphant, like he's finally won that battle that re-starts every time these two brothers meet. "Well, Sherlock, if you don't know then far be it from me to tell you,"


	42. Watching Him Play

**Title: **Watching Him Play  
**Word Count: **313  
**Prompt:**Music  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Sherlock'll do anything, play anything, to keep John looking at him when he plays.  
**Authors Note:** Again, longer. I'm sorry about that, but there were more and more things that my mind wanted to say about this all.

* * *

Watching Him Play.

Lyrical and delicate notes, whose ghostly tune will continue to circle John's mind ear, twist from Sherlock's violin and through the air of 221b Baker Street so that John is captivated by the sound. Not just by the sound, in fact, because Sherlock's face when his incredible brain is lost within the music is…mesmerising.

His terrifyingly intelligent face is sharpened with the genius of his compositions, yet John can see how it's eclipsed in a tender softness he rarely – if ever – sees upon his roommate's face. And John just can't tear his eyes away.

"It's all artificial, John," Sherlock tells him one night after one of his more haunting pieces, the icy veneer of his genius settling once more about his devastatingly handsome face. "When you think about it, music doesn't even really exist. It only exists because of the way that our ears interpret the sound."

Maybe John wasn't meant to see it, or maybe Sherlock was finally allowing him to see something behind those walls of his, but John sees a poignantly heart-wrenching expression on the detective's young face as he speaks. "And any emotional response you feel to it is just artificial," Sherlock tucks away the violin and curls himself around John's side.

"Then why do you do it?" John asks quietly, as Sherlock's face falls into a contemplative frown. And somehow, maybe something in the way Sherlock's eyes lock on his, John knows that he won't be receiving a verbal answer from the man tonight.

Because the words that Sherlock will never say are too truthful, too raw and real for him ever to express to John. So inside he keeps them in his thoughts, and hopes that John catches some glimpse of what he means within his silence.

Sherlock plays his music, because he'll do anything to keep that look in John's eyes when he watches him play.


	43. To Touch Is To Trust

**Title:** To Touch Is To Trust  
**Word Count: **235  
**Prompt: **Touch  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Allowing someone to touch you is to trust them explicitly. And Sherlock has never been one to trust.  
**Author's Note:** I just thought that this was a nice idea. Anyway, thankyou to all of the amazing reviewers, and please, I need your help. Would you prefer 'A matter of waiting,' or 'Just for them' next? Because I can't decide. Thankyou so much.

**

* * *

**

To Touch Is To Trust.

Touch is the most intimate of human actions. Anyone can look, anyone can speak, but only those we trust can touch. A hand clasped in friendship, a hug snatched in comfort, or a kiss between lovers. To touch is to trust, and neither is given freely.

Sherlock has never been free with touch. Sure, as a child he was given hugs from his mother, but even at such a young age he was never comfortable with it. And he's absolutely certain that he's _never_ been wrapped in a hug from Mycroft. So, touch has become unfamiliar territory, always making him feel like he's trespassing whenever he gets anywhere close to it.

But, the fact that he never minds touching John is cause for great study. There have been hands offered in help, bodies pulled to the ground in avoidance of bullets, and that one notable time where Sherlock clasped John's face in his hands and spun him wildly. And never once has Sherlock shied away from him.

He figures out why eventually. And, thankfully, John catches on too. But his study still needs further examination. So, he gets into the habit of touching John whenever he can, tracing his line of his jaw, toying with his scarred and weathered hands, or simply running an absent finger down his ribcage.

And whenever John reacts with confusion, Sherlock simply smiles and says that he's still learning him.


	44. Just For Them

**Title:** Just For Them  
**Word Count: **219  
**Prompt: **Gentle  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** A man like Sherlock Holmes leaves no time in his life for quiet, or for gentle. But he reckons he can make an exception with John, because he sees how much it means to him.**  
****Author's Note: **Okay, all you guys were maddeningly unhelpful. The votes for this next chapter were equal! Argh. Anyway, so I decided to go with 'Just For Them' because that was the first vote. For those who asked for 'A Matter Of Waiting' I'll post it up sometime this week. Anyway, enjoy.

* * *

Just For Them

When the hungry eyes have faded, the shorn clothing have settled entirely in their strewn state, and their breathing finally begins to slow from the quick, gasping breaths they'd snatched only moments ago, they lie together in a frame of ruffled sheets and gentle quiet. It's rare that they are quiet, their lives don't allow it, but right now they just take the time to be John and Sherlock.

They talk, talk about anything and nothing, as Sherlock's head of knotted hair rests against John's chest. Any fleeting thought that enters their minds, any random whisper however odd, they give voice to. Because this is _their_ time, not Scotland Yard's or any criminal they're chasing this week, and these times are so incredibly infrequent that they take almost childlike joy in the feeling.

It's quiet, gentle, and they mean everything to John. Because he knows that these snatches of tranquility are something that Sherlock would have once categorised as 'Dull' before leaving them the Hell alone. But Sherlock's the one whose arms ensnare around John's waist should he dare to try and move even an inch.

And it feels just plain wrong to describe anything Sherlock does as 'Gentle' but when they lie there and the other man's fingers trawl lazily through John's hair, no other word feels right.


	45. A Matter Of Waiting

**Title:** A Matter Of Waiting  
**Word Count: **106  
**Prompt: **Patience  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Because when it comes down to it, it's all just a matter of waiting. Waiting for Sherlock.  
**Author's Note:** Oh, wow. 222 reviews! Oh...wow. I'm speechless. I never expected to even get to 100, let alone 200. So thankyou so, _so,_ much to every single amazing person who has reviewed this fiction. Really, you've made me smile so much. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this.

* * *

A Matter Of Waiting.

It's just a matter of waiting, of patience and tolerance. And, luckily, John has rivers of the stuff when it comes to Sherlock Holmes.

He needs to. Patience is a skill that he's honed to perfection thanks to all of Sherlock's explosive experiments, his evasive silences and his general dismissive attitude towards the world. But now he needs to wait patiently much more than he ever has before.

It's just a matter of waiting.

Because it's all up to Sherlock now. John's figured it out, slotted together those riddling puzzle-pieces until they create the answer in his head. He's deciphered the clenching in his chest, the looks thrown across crowded rooms, and nights spent in entirely the other's company. He knows. And Sherlock knows, too. Probably worked it out eons before he did, genius that the other man is.

It's all a matter of waiting.

They both know. And they both know the other knows. The hands have been played, as it were. And now John's just waiting. Waiting for Sherlock to make whatever move he chooses, because it'll always be Sherlock who dictates what happens between them. Waiting for him.

It's all a matter of waiting.

And he'll wait as long as he has to.


	46. Through Different Eyes

**Title:** Through Different Eyes  
**Word Count:** 415  
**Prompt:** Lestrade  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Lestrade has known Sherlock Holmes for years now, has worked with him on many cases and had complained loudly about him to anyone who'll listen. But he's never been so confused by the man than when he turned up with Doctor John Watson.  
**Author's Note: **An interesting idea that popped into my head. Just a quick query; _Was_ his name Greg? I read it all the time in fictions, but there's the occasional 'Geoffrey' I find around the place so I'm confused. Anyway, if you know for certain can you please let me know and I'll try to change that. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

Through Different Eyes.

It isn't often that Detective Insepector Greg Lestrade is confused. Puzzled, certainly. Baffled, occasionally. But genuinely confused...that's rare. It's not some ingrained talent, it's just that when he heads one of the most dangerous teams in Scotland Yard that 'confused' can't be in his vocabulary. You try telling the vultures of the Press that you're confused, and you'll find yourself back in uniform before you can say _No Comment_.

But when, on the case that half of his team now refer to as 'A Study In Pink', he meets John Watson, he finds that no other word but confused seems to fit. He knows Sherlock Holmes. Well, knows whatever parts of the man Sherlock lets him see. And the concept of the eccentric, arrogant genius having friends just seems implausible. ('He's with me' What did that even mean?)

Then again, they never really seem to be friends. They're colleagues for...he reckons around about fifteen minutes. And whatever comes after can't really be described as 'friends'. Greg has friends, and he doesn't look at his friends the same way that pair look at each other.

There are rumours surrounding this for weeks. From the incredibly polite 'Those two seem _awfully_ close, don't they?', the slightly more crass 'How is that nutcase getting more action than me?', to the downright unsavory 'They might as well be shagging right next to the goddamn corpse!' (He'd been able to talk to Sally for two weeks after that particular comment.) And the confusion thickens. Because the idea of Sherlock Holmes falling in love is just...unfathomable.

But there's something there. He knows it. Knows it, because he sees it every now and then when he turns his head at the right moment. When he sees John look at Sherlock with a fierce protective glint in his blue eyes, and sees Sherlock return the look with the same flashing eyes. When he catches the smothered giggles and restrained smiles at _crime-scenes_ of all places. And the fear in Sherlock's face when John ends up in hospital because of one of their cases. (Greg still can't erase that hauntingly terrified face)

Doesn't stop it being confusing, though. In fact, it probably makes it even worse.

However, in the end, he stops wondering. It hurts his head and, frankly, he's not sure he'll ever figure that pair out. Because there are some things that people just aren't meant to know. And maybe the phenomenon of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson is one of them.


	47. Such A Fragile Thing

**Title:** Such A Fragile Thing  
**Word Count: **269  
**Prompt: **Trust  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Sherlock doesn't trust. End of story. That was always the case. But, then again, a lot of things have changed since John Watson entered his life…  
**Author's Note: **People were interested in the idea of Sherlock and John starting to trust each other since the Touch chapter, so I thought it'd be interesting to see what came of it. This is what I got, and I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Such A Fragile Thing.

Trust is a fragile thing, extremely delicate and light. By its very nature, it's almost spun of molten glass – burningly beautiful.

For those reasons, it is such a difficult thing to procure. Teenagers will beg parents for some meagre form of trust, lovers will spend months convincing their partners that they can be trusted, and even the closest of friends spend _years_ forming those trusting bonds that make friendship what it is.

Trust, once earned, gives us such tremendous freedom. Our feet leave the ground, anchored only by the thought that there is someone who trusts us. But, such is its elusive quality, that it is so easily shattered. And once it is lost, it is impossible to recover.

Sherlock has seen close-hand the ways in which trust is snatched away; the woman who trusts her husband, betrayed by his affair with his assistant; the parents who allow their children some freedom, heart-broken when they're abducted by that man on the internet they didn't tell their parents about; and the man stabbed in the back by his best friend. So, Sherlock simply decided to only trust himself, because it is the easiest way to not get burnt.

But, he figures, that if he were to trust anyone, John would be that person. Even though John's gotten closer to him than he's ever allowed anyone to, Sherlock's still not one to tear down walls. Even for John.

Maybe it'll happen, maybe it won't. But Sherlock supposes it will. Because John has already rearranged his life so much, that it'll be no surprise if he manages to earn Sherlock's trust, too.


	48. Go Away, Come Back

**Title: **Go Away, Come Back  
**Word Count: **389  
**Prompt: **Please Don't Leave Me  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Summary: **He can see it, whenever Sherlock's at his most cutting, that pleading in his eyes…Please don't go.  
**Author's Note:** Thankyou to all of you reviewers, nothing has ever made me smile more. I liked this chapter. Because I figure that, any way you put it, a relationship with Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be 'nice' all of the time. Anyway, here it is. Hope you like it.

* * *

Go Away, Come Back

Leaving is a constant in their relationship. John supposes that it's a constant in any relationship; Leaving for work in the morning, leaving to do the shopping, or just leaving to blow off a little steam. Relationships of any type can't sustain for long if every hour is spent in the other's company. As they say, Familiarity Breeds Contempt.

They've left each other so many times by now that eventually the _way_ they leave changes. There are actual goodbyes before John leaves for work, or before Sherlock races off after some mysterious lead, and even when John stalks off after some particularly heated argument or Sherlock shuts himself in his room after John's done something he deems to be predominantly stupid, there's always something left hanging in the air that says _I'm coming back._

But sometimes, John feels like Sherlock's just trying to get him to leave. Not because he wants him gone, but because John knows that Sherlock has never had someone live with him voluntarily for as long as John has, and Sherlock has to test everything. Has to test every _little_ thing that gets remotely near to him. Maybe he doesn't want him to leave, but he has to measure how far he can push John – how much John cares enough to put up with – before John leaves as well. And Sherlock knows _exactly_ where to aim his blows.

Sometimes John can barely stand it. Because Sherlock can be so cruel when he wants to be, like the sociopath that he once claimed to be. But that was a lifetime ago, before John saw the emotion that flickered in Sherlock's eyes, or felt the heat of Sherlock's body pressed flush against him. Maybe all those months ago, John would have believed every cutting barb that Sherlock threw his way.

But not anymore. And John will never leave. Because no matter how many times he gets hurt, no matter how many times Sherlock forces insults in his direction, no matter how many reasons Sherlock can give him for leaving, John will always find that one reason to fight for him. Because he can see it. Can see in the depths of Sherlock's eyes that the other man tries to hide away, can see the mumbled plea that Sherlock will never admit to asking…

_Please don't leave me_.


	49. Admitting It

**Title:**Admitting It  
**Word Count: **381  
**Prompt: **Admittance  
**Rating:**PG-13  
**Summary:**It'll take a lot for the self-proclaimed sociopath to admit that he can feel anything more than respect for the man by his side.  
**Author's Note: **I wrote this because anyone really expect Sherlock Holmes to just up and happily admit that he's '_Oh, my God, so in love with John_'. Because, and I mean this as no disrespect to my age-group, but he's not a fifteen year old girl. He's not setting his MSN name to 'Inluv4eva'. And he's not going to be all smiles about it. At least, not in my head. Anyway, I hope you like it.

* * *

Admitting It

It's not a dawning realisation, nor is it something that just happens along the way like it was always there, and neither is it something that hits him with the force of a lightning bolt. It's something that Sherlock has never truly known before. It's like some painful combination of these three; a lightning shock that tingles in the edges of his conscious, growing and shocking until it can fry him from the inside out. But it is so real, so familiar, and so unexpectedly expected, that Sherlock doesn't know how he didn't see it coming.

He doesn't know how to make it _stop_. How to stop this virus that is filling up his mind like fire, clouding his judgement. He tries talking himself out of it, oh does he try. He can't count the nights he spends talking himself in circles around 221b, talking to pages of his books, the glass containers of his experiments, and he even turns to his faithful skull for guidance, which decidedly remains unhelpful when he needs it most.

He talks himself in and out of this, a hundred times in a single night; and though he's a brilliant liar, he makes his living in detecting lies, and he so can't make any of his own white lies or half truths stick for long.

But still he argues. Argues with that tenacity that is rivalled in very few other men. He argues because he's Sherlock Holmes and he can argue his way out of just about anything (Though he's aslo argued himself _into_ quite a few things in his time). And _surely_ he's argued himself out of worse things than this. Although it's a long time before he will admit what 'this' is, even in his arguments with himself.

At first he tries to deny it, but he can't deny that whatever's happening _is_ happening. Then he tries evading it and dodging it, but it always finds him once more. He tries to blur it, smudge it, grub it, wipe it out, but he can still always see it. And he knows he'll _always_ be able to see it.

But finally, after weeks of losing this endless battle against himself inch by inch, he opens his arms and yells out to 221b and admits it.


	50. What Drives Him Mad

**Title:**What Drives Him Mad.  
**Word Count: **305  
**Prompt: **Tie  
**Rating:**PG-13  
**Summary:** There aren't many things in life that drive John Watson insane. But, of course, Sherlock Holmes is going to be the exception.  
**Author's Note:** Okay, I haven't posted in a while, but I'd kind of run out of ideas. Then, I've been off ill from school this week so I just had a lot of time to kill. Anyway, it's a simple idea, but I quite liked it. It amused me. Hope you like it.

* * *

What Drives Him Mad.

There aren't many things in life that drive John Watson insane. He's a rather patient man, he thinks, and most things he can just brush by without too much fuss.

However, as with all things, he makes an exception for the eccentric genius he shares a flat with.

But it's not the silences that last for days, it's not the violin that plays screechingly loud at all hours of the morning, it's not the body parts in the fridges or the constant stealing of his possessions. Those, he can just about put up with. No, what drives him mad and sends his thoughts into a spiral of absolute insanity, is Sherlock's complete refusal to _wear. A. Tie._

This small, otherwise inconsequential, quirk of Sherlock's, is maddening. Not because John's a stickler for appearances – he has too many ragged woollen jumpers for that to be true – but because of the fact that Sherlock's pale neck is temptingly, tantalising on display all the time! It's fine in the winter, when it's draped in scarfs and wrapped up in coats, but in the summer he's screwed And, oh, _God_, that one time when it rained…

He never thought he could be so preoccupied by one small fact. But, then again, Sherlock captivates him enough as it. It's really no surprise that this does, too. But this is just distracting, and he just _can't_ work when his eyes are drawn continuously to the subtle dip of skin between the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. It's entirely off-putting, and one day – in the middle of a crime-scene of all places – he has just about enough.

"Here!" He yanks the piece of cloth away from his own neck and throws it at Sherlock, who's looking slightly bemused at him. "It's a tie. _Use it_."

He turns away and, behind him, Sherlock grins.


	51. The Art Of Seduction

**Title:** The Art Of Seduction  
**Word Count: **294  
**Prompt:**Seduction  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Sherlock has seduced before, but never has he had anyone as wrapped around his finger as John has him wrapped around his.  
**Author's Note: **In all honesty, I have absolutely no idea where this came from. It's…interesting, I'll give you that. Anyway, I think it came from a conversation I was having with one of my friends about how the word 'seduction' sounded very…predatory (I grant you, weird conversation) but when I was at my laptop, I was just testing it out as an idea for something and I thought about how a seduction from Sherlock _would_ be very predatory, but how about one from John…? Here's was came of it.

* * *

The Art Of Seduction.

Sherlock has orchestrated seductions before. Of course he has. He's never followed through on any promises he's whispered in eager ears, because as soon as he'd drawn his conquest in the police were always standing by to sweep them up. Seduction was an art used mainly in his favour when dealing with suspects, men and women alike, and he'd proven himself to be very skilled in the matter; pale hands dancing in the air under the guise of enthusiastic gestures, which draw up thoughts of a touch that can unravel bodies; voice dipped to an even lower octave, making the enticing gravelly undertone sound that much more immoral; and eyelids lowered over unblinking eyes that promise anything you could ever dream of and more…_Child's play_

But that has always been where it ended. A lingering hand on the curve of a thigh, a whispered brush of soft lips against the sensitive shell of an ear, and a smile that could turn even the most sainted into a completely depraved sinner. His tools are weapons of the deadliest nature, but Sherlock's bedsheets have always remained firmly and resolutely unruffled.

But none of his seductions can even _begin_ to measure up to what it does to Sherlock when John's hand slides into his with such conviction that it makes Sherlock's knees all but buckle. Or when John absently toys with the inky strands of Sherlock's hair, _just because I can_. And when John is standing there, just breathing in Sherlock's embrace, he doesn't think he's found anything more alluring than John whispering those three words against his neck.

Sherlock has orchestrated seductions before, of course he has. But he's a complete novice in comparison to John Watson.


	52. The Kiss In His Eyes

**Title:** The Kiss In His Eyes  
**Word Count: **363  
**Prompt:**The Look – Sara Teasdale (1884 – 1933)  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Kisses mean everything to other people, and John knows that Sherlock is not 'other people'.  
**Author's Note: **This is an…odd one. It's inspired by one of my favourite poems The Look, kind of. And it's not one of my usual John/Sherlock relationships, but I hope you enjoy it.

_The Look – Sara Teasdale (1884 – 1933)_

_Strephon kissed me in the spring.  
__Robin in the fall  
__But Colin only looked at me  
__And never kissed at all  
__  
Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,  
__Robin's lost in play,  
__But the kiss in Colin's eyes  
__Haunts me night and day._

__

_

* * *

_

The Kiss In His Eyes

Kisses are curious things, simple and everyday enough that we hardly notice them. But maybe if we paid more attention, then we'd see that each kiss conveys a meaning all its own. Some are tentative, ungainly as fawns in springs, and speak of new love. Some are tender, and tell of contentment and happiness. And some are filled with passion, of fire and thrills that only few can handle.

Sarah kisses John shyly. She kisses him when the trees sprout new buds, when the children are half-bundled in thin shirts and thick coats, when the sun shines bright yet cold through patched clouds. When Sarah kisses John it's in spring, a time of growing and learning, of new things. Sarah kisses John in the beginning, when 221b is still new, terrifying, and a tingling feeling to every extremity.

Sarah is kind, and Sarah is gentle, but Sarah cannot hope to match up with the man who holds John's every attention and pulls him into a dance that only the two of them know.

Mary…Mary kisses John affectionately, with hope shining in her eyes for a future that they could have together. She kisses him when the trees are littered in rust, when the nights are rippled with evening purple and a beginning chill, when couples walk closer for warmth in the cold. When Mary kisses John it's in autumn, a time of maturity and gathering, of warmth and colour. Mary kisses John towards the year's end, and 221b is synonymous with Home.

Mary is beautiful, and Mary is lovely, and John finds himself nearly marrying Mary, but not even Mary can begin to contend with the man who anchors John unrelentingly to danger and home at the same time, and gives him everything he could ever desire.

Through Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, Sherlock only looks at John. But in Sherlock's eyes, John sees a kiss of electricity and adrenaline that none other could possibly measure up to.

No, Sherlock never kisses John, but soon enough the look of that unnameable emotion in the other man's eyes wipes the memory of all other kisses from John's head…and haunts him night and day.


	53. By Any Other Name

**Title:** By Any Other Name…  
**Word Count: **449  
**Prompt:**Titles  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** Colleague, friend, boyfriend, lover…none of these titles suffice for the man who's wrapped himself around John's heart.  
**Author's Note: **Longer than my usual length, but ah well. This came from something I was thinking about, because I know that I would entirely incapable of calling anyone by a pet-name. And I started to write something along the lines of that, but then it morphed and changed. Oops. Maybe I'll do a pet-name one another time, but for now, this is what I came up with. Hope you enjoy, and, again, thankyou for every review being written.

* * *

By Any Other Name…

There are countless things about Sherlock Holmes that has John tied up in knots. Granted, this is not a new revelation to him, but it occurs so often that he has to stop and give it thought more times that should be strictly healthy. Sherlock's very being is so mercurial that it throws him off balance and back again in mere seconds, so to be confused by the other man is nothing new.

But the one thing that confuses him more than anything else – genuinely causes his forehead to crease and his mouth to straighten – is what he should call him.

Colleague is just too impersonal, and John dismisses it right of the bat. That may have been true for all of…ooh, five minutes, but not now. Especially not now. Colleagues are simply work related, you grab cups of coffee with colleagues in breaks and bitch about work-loads, but at the end of the day you walk away without another thought.

Friend was acceptable, perfect even, for a couple of weeks. But John has friends, and he doesn't think of his friends the way he thinks of Sherlock. He doesn't talk to his friends, the way he and Sherlock speak to each other. And he's quite confident that he's never been pulled into a bedroom and thoroughly unravelled by the touch of any of his friends either. No, 'friends' doesn't fit anymore.

Boyfriend. No. Just, no. John knows that should he _ever_ to refer to Sherlock as his 'boyfriend' that the dark-haired man would quirk an amused and disparaging eyebrow at him and inquire _when_, precisely, John had turned into a teenaged girl.

Lover speaks only of mussed hair, hungry eyes and ruffled bed-clothes. Lovers doesn't do justice to the hollowing _need_ in John's chest for Sherlock, nor does it accurately sum up the affection that laces even Sherlock's most _I cannot believe the idiocy_ comments.

Running out of titles, John's left with two options. Sherlock. But that just sounds so _unbelievably _cheesy that he laughs at himself for even suggesting it. Also, he doubts that Sherlock will take too kindly to the insinuation that he belongs to John (Even though they both know he kinda does, and vice versa.)

So John is just left with the one option. And, really, it was the option he should have seen all alone. He can't name Sherlock because it's impossible to do so. He'll challenge anyone to attempt it and succeed in a way that precisely and correctly labels the complex, enigmatic and labyrinthine man who's wrapped himself around John's heart into a singular word.

Sherlock's nameless. But sooner or later, John knows he'll stop worrying about this.

He always does.


	54. Child's Play

**Title:** Child's Play  
**Word Count: **143  
**Prompt:**Games  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** John isn't as useless as Sherlock thinks. Sherlock disagrees.  
**Author's Note: **A silly idea, maybe, but the concept amused me entirely too much for it to stay in my head. I also realise that I haven't been updating a lot, recently, but I set myself a goal of getting to 100 chapters. It may take me a while, but I _will_ give it a good go. Thankyou if you've still stuck around, despite my rubbishness. (Which I know isn't a word, but creative licence?) Thankyou.

* * *

Child's Play.

John isn't quite sure how he managed this one. He thinks he threatened Sherlock's latest experiment – which he _really_ doesn't need the details of, thanks – but he can't be as sure as he'd like to be. All he currently is sure of, is that Sherlock is looking at him with a _really, John?_ look that tells John he's both amused by John's 'human' eccentricities, and is more than ready to scorn him until he's ripped to pieces.

However, he also knows that this is far too amusing for him to care.

"I say it was…Reverend Green, in the ballroom, with the lead-piping."

One of Sherlock's eyebrows rose, as John collected the cards from the centre. "And _I_ say that this is a perfectly ridiculous game."

"You're only saying that because I solved it."

"Oh, well done. You solved a _children's game._"

"_You_ didn't."


	55. Doesn't Know What To Think

**Title:** Doesn't Know What To Think  
**Word Count: **350  
**Prompt: **Tension  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** The man is a genius, there's no way he can be oblivious to what's happening. There are times when John doesn't know what to think about it.  
**Author's Note: **Okay, I've been useless at this whole updating lark, but I promise you have a plethora of excuses for you all. I had to go through my GCSE's (Nightmare) then summer work (Hell and back. Twice.) and now back to sixth form. But I promise I've been writing like it's going out of style, and I so have missed writing about the boys. So, please accept my apologies, believe my excuses, and I'll try not to do so again. That is, if you haven't given up on me. Yet. Anyway, hope you enjoy.

* * *

Doesn't Know What To Think.

"I don't see why you can't do this," John wonders darkly, the scalpel still hovering over the dead flesh – the _bloody hand_ on his kitchen table - and Sherlock still hovering over him.

Sherlock tuts. "Really, John?" He murmurs, the two words drenched in arrogance making John feel about six inches high. Nothing unusual, then. "The results of this experiment could help free a falsely convicted woman. This is _vital_. A surgeon's hands are needed."

Sherlock sounds urgent, the hand John hasn't realised that his roommate's curved around his shoulder tightens, and more importantly the man has a point. Damn. "Fine."

He can't see Sherlock's grin, but the warm gush of air against his neck is flooded with laughter. John rolls his eyes and lowers the scalpel, Sherlock's instructions being muttered in his ear. As the scalpel mimics the crime-scene photos, Sherlock leans closer, absorbed by the results and deductions he's undoubtedly cataloguing and filing over and over in his head.

John stops breathing. He can't help it. His hand tightens on the implement he holds, his blink-rate increases, and _can he be any more obvious?_ Sherlock's whispering two-to-the-dozen by his ear, cutting himself off in the middle of sentences and repeating words until he stops suddenly and dives his left hand into John's trouser pocket, his long fingers scrabbling frantically. 'Freezing' doesn't do justification to how fast John stills.

Sherlock pulls John's phone from the material and begins texting, seemingly oblivious to his roommate's paralysation, and slides away, leaving John to wonder whether a man that _brilliant_ can possibly be this oblivious. Whether Sherlock Holmes, _the _Sherlock Holmes, can be so blinkered that he can't see what John's practically screaming out for the world to see.

When Sherlock calls for him from the street, hailing the next taxi in the next breath, John thinks that maybe he is. Then when Sherlock hands him back his phone, his fingertips lingering for one second longer than necessary, John thinks he really isn't. But when he catches Sherlock studying him in the cabbie's rear-view mirror, he really doesn't know what to think.


End file.
